Parent Trap AU
by thecirclesquare
Summary: Clarke and Lexa make the connection of a lifetime at summer camp, only to discover that this is the first time their families have connected. A Parent Trap AU for OBCrack on her birthday. Written with lots of love and a few side winks. Enjoy!


"Lexa! Lexa! Lexa!"

I push through the crowd just in time to see Madison knock Lexa onto her back. But still the campers chant Lexa's name.

"Lexa! Lexa! Lexa!"

I start chanting, too, but my words are more like a plea. Lexa looks up. She sees me. I know she does because her eyes become momentarily soft. But then Madison pulls out a pocket knife, flicking it open with one swift gesture. She steps toward Lexa, and I almost take a step forward, too.

But then Lexa shakes her head. She doesn't want my help.

"Lexa, get up!" I shout.

She turns away from me as Madison confidently approaches.

 _Of course,_ I think, _it's easy to be confident with a knife in your hand._

I remember the day I slipped the knife into Madison's pocket. I remember our tentative alliance. I remember the lies and the manipulations. "If you don't help me, Lexa will kill me. I'm certain of it."

 _This is all my fault,_ I think.

I lunge forward, but I'm pulled back — Madison's thugs have got me by the elbows.

"Get up!" I shout again.

But she doesn't. She just lies there, covering her eyes from the light of the blood-red sunset.

Madison lunges, pinning Lexa to the ground beneath her. She pushes the knife right up against Lexa's neck. She pushes it so hard that she breaks the skin and a little bead of blood drips down into the grass.

The chanting grows louder, more frantic, and it's not clear who the campers are rooting for anymore.

Madison leans forward. She leans so far forward that her face is right above Lexa's, and still Lexa makes no move to fight back. Madison sneers as she leans even a little closer, whispering something into Lexa's ear.

I can't hear what Madison says, but soon Lexa's eyes lock on mine, and in an instant, I know that she has said the wrong thing. Lexa's jaw sets in determination. She scowls as she reaches up, as she grabs the blade of the pocket knife in the palm of her hand, barely wincing as she pushes up against it.

Surprised, Madison leans into her, growling fiercely and backing up that knife with every ounce of her body weight.

But this, of course, is exactly what Lexa wanted. She kicks a leg up and bucks her hips, and in using Madison's own forward momentum, she has flipped her completely.

Stunned, Madison rolls away. But it is too late. Lexa has already disarmed her.

And with a speed like nothing I have ever seen, Lexa pins Madison to the ground, one hand around her neck and one hand holding the knife. Madison squirms and pounds on Lexa's ribs, but it is no use.

"Blood must have blood," Lexa says.

Madison trembles beneath her.

"Lexa, don't!" I shout.

"Give me your hand!" Lexa says.

Madison does as she's told. Lexa grabs the hand, presses the blade into the palm, then slashes it away. The crowd gasps as Madison cries out. I cry out, too. Lexa turns toward the lakeshore, reaches way back and launches the knife as far out into the lake as she can before rising and stumbling out of the now diffuse crowd.

I watch her go, but she never once looks back, and maybe that is a good thing, because how could I ever explain that I had almost gotten her killed?

" _I'm sorry."_ I imagined myself saying, " _I gave her that knife before I really knew you, before I_ …"

But no, even in my imaginings, I wouldn't let myself say those words.

* * *

I walk alone back to my private cabin — the only private cabin in the whole camp — and sit down on my bunk. I skip dinner. I can't bear the thought of eating or of seeing the other girls. I only have to get through the night, and in the morning, all of our parents will arrive and we can leave this place behind and forget everything that has happened here.

Soon I grow tired of sitting, so I lay back onto the bed, resting my head on the pillow but keeping my feet on the floor. I lay there a long time and think about her — about Lexa. I think about her hand. I wonder if she has made her way to the nurse. I wonder how she explains away the injury. I wonder if she charms the nurse with a smile and an, "Oops, I cut myself with the fishing knife."

I think about the nurse wrapping her hand and I'm overcome with a bitterness in my stomach. But then I imagine myself there instead and the feeling quickly passes — quickly melts away into something else. I close my eyes and picture her hand, soft and clean and wrapped up. I imagine raising her hand up and placing a little kiss on the plump flesh of her palm just below her thumb. I imagine that this might make her blush, and even as I imagine her reddening cheeks, I feel my whole body grow hot in an instant.

Again I imagine my apology. I imagine her face when she hears the words. I think she would take it harshly, that she would refuse to accept it, that I would beg, reach for her arm, would pull her toward me and then…

 _KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Startled, I sit straight up, as if I've been caught doing something sinister. I clear my throat and adjust my hair.

"Who is it?" I shout.

"It's me," she says through the door.

 _Lexa._

I jump up at the sound of her voice, but before I pull open the door, I wait. I have no idea what to do when I see her, what to say. I think for a moment that I should turn her away.

"I don't want to fight," I say.

"Neither do I."

Her voice is tired and convincing. And when I pull open the door, she stands on the porch with dirt on her face and dust on her black t-shirt and jeans. Her hand is wrapped in a dirty cloth and already soaked through with blood. She cradles it against her chest as if that might stop the pain.

I gasp.

"Mind if I lay low here for awhile?" she says with a shrug.

"Sure," I say. "But for how long?"

"I don't know, for the whole night?"

She smiles weakly then brushes a strand of hair from her face. There isn't an ounce of her old toughness left.

The thought excites me and terrifies me at the same time. I clear my throat.

"Look, I get it, never mind," she says, turning away.

"No!" I say, reaching for her. "No, wait. There's plenty of room."

Lexa looks past me into the cabin. "Yeah, I can see that."

She walks in and I'm suddenly embarrassed.

"Excuse the mess," I say, grabbing up piles of clothes from empty bunks.

"It's no sweat," she says, sitting on the bed right across from mine.

I sit, too, and for a moment we are both silent. We face each other without facing each other, her glancing around the room and me? I try hard to not look at her face, but I can't keep my eyes off of her neck, her shoulders, the hand cradled against her chest.

"Nice place," she says.

"You know, you should really get that checked out."

"Oh, this?"

"Yeah. Have you even considered going to see the nurse?"

"No," she says. "There would be too much to explain. Besides, my mom will do a better job than she ever could. Better to just wait until tomorrow."

"And how will you explain it to her?"

"Easy," she says with another shrug. "I'll say Madison jumped me."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"And she'll believe you?"

"Why wouldn't she?"

"I don't know. If I told my mom something like that, she'd have a million questions...judgements...reprimands, you name it. Not to mention I'd be grounded for a year."

"Well, in that case, I'm glad I don't have your mom."

I think I see the hint of a smile on her lips, but then weariness sets in and her gaze grows distant.

"Nah," she continues. "My mom's super progressive. She likes to talk about feelings and shit. She's all about emoting, you know?"

"Wow," I say. "I never would have guessed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you don't seem like the emoting type."

"Hey, I emote!"

She stands as she says it, taking a step forward. Again scared. Again excited.

"Obviously," I say with my hands raised.

She hesitates, and something flashes across her face, a thought that she isn't sure she wants to share. Her eyes dart over my features. She looks from my lips to my eyes and back again. She shuts her mouth tight and steps away.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Hey," I say. "It's fine. Why don't you take a rest? Clean that hand? Take a shower?"

"No, I couldn't."

"Please, it's no big deal."

"I don't have any of my things."

"I have plenty," I say, glancing toward the piles of clothes.

She looked at the piles, too, rubbing anxiously at the back of her neck.

I reach for a crumpled t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I hand them over, but she stands in front of the bed, looking too tired to move. I reach for her hand. I place the clothes in her palm anyway.

"Look," I say, "it's been a long day and I have a feeling it will be a long night. We may as well be comfortable."

I think for a moment that neither of us breathes.

"Comfortable," she says, pressing the clothes to her chest. "Right."

I think for a moment that she will change her mind and leave. The thought pushes me forward.

"I mean," I stammer, "I mean, as comfortable as we can be...considering..."

 _...considering how you make me feel...how you make my body feel..._

Our eyes meet and she blinks — once, twice. My heart flutters as fast as her eyelashes, and I know she feels it — the same excitement and the same fear. She blushes, I'm sure of it, and it is this blush — this perfectly vulnerable blush — that sets my pulse racing, that sets my skin on fire. I lick my lips and take a breath.

Her mouth is open and I think I would like to kiss her, but then she turns away.

"Thank you," she says. "I won't be long."

It is only when I hear the bathroom door close that I finally exhale. Without thinking, I move to the window and look out at the darkening sky. Distantly, I wonder if Madison and her crew will come searching for us in the night. I wonder she would think to look for Lexa here. I reach for the door and lock it.

But then I'm not sure if I'm locking everyone else out or if I'm locking myself in.

In that moment, you see, my skin is on fire, totally ablaze, crawling in a way that I can't control. I think I might explode or scream. I think that I should pull open the door and run through woods, if only to try to outrun the energy that has gathered in my chest, in my head, in the tips of my fingers that itch and itch to touch.

I run them over the cool glass window. I run them over the splintered window frame. But these dead things are not warm enough to appease me. I run them through my own hair, but even that is unsatisfactory.

"No!" I whisper to myself.

There is something else I must touch, but I am not brave enough. So I stand at the window and stare out, lost in a sort of hypoactive haze. My mind drifts back, weeks ago, to the second night at camp, to the night I see Lexa alone in the woods with the moonlight on her face.

" _What are you doing out here?" she says._

" _I could ask you the same."_

" _Just taking a walk."_

" _Me, too, I guess."_

" _Doesn't seem very safe," she says._

" _Safer now that there are two of us."_

 _I remember her smirk. I remember the hoodie pulled up over her head. "Guess you're right."_

" _There's just one problem," I say._

" _What's that?"_

" _I think I'm lost."_

 _She laughs and I can see her teeth, white against the darkness. I remember how soft her laugh is, how gentle._

" _Just stick close to me," she says._

 _And I do. I stick close to her, so close that I feel the sleeve of her hoodie against my bare arm. And when she turns to tell me something, I walk right into her, nearly knocking us both over. We wrap our arms around each other to keep from falling. I can't see much in the dark, but I can feel the warmth of her breath on my forehead._

" _Not that close."_

I shake the memory off. The last thing I need is to fuel the fire that is building inside my chest, inside my belly. The last thing I need is to remember the shape of her torso, the soft press of my fingers against her back, the hollow sound of her laugh with my ear to her shoulder.

"Stop it!" I scold myself.

I hear the bathroom door open behind me, but I cannot bring myself to turn around.

"Stop what?" she says.

I only see her reflection in the window. I see the outline of her long legs, of her cradled arm, of her dark wet hair let down long over her bare shoulders. I have given her a tank top and I couldn't regret that decision more.

She turns to hang the towel on the door and I see a tattoo on her back, but the shape of it is indistinguishable in the window pane.

"Stop what?" she repeats.

I turn but it's too late. She is already coming my way and the tattoo is out of sight.

"Nothing," I say.

She sits on the bunk across from mine and raises her freshly-bandaged hand.

"Hey, check it out. Found the first-aid kit in the bathroom."

"Great," I say from the window. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah," she says. "And that's not the only thing I found."

She picks up a half-full bottle of whiskey from the floor.

"Wow," I say as deadpan as possible, if only to mask my true excitement.

"I mean, at least it will give us something to do tonight."

"Or we could just sleep," I say.

"Whiskey can help with that, too."

"Right."

She struggles to open the bottle with one hand, then looks up.

"Little help?" she says.

I sigh and reluctantly step forward. I reach for the bottle. I grab it from her hands, and all the while she looks up at me, no dark eyeliner on her face, no braids in her hair, no black hoodie to hide her frame. I smell the soap and the shampoo. I see the pores on her cheeks and the little wispy hairs on her legs. I hear her laugh and swallow.

I take a long look at the bottle of whiskey. There are little murky flecks at the bottom of it.

"I'm not drinking this," I say as I set the bottle on the nightstand.

"Well," she says, "that was my only plan. What's plan B?"

"Lexa…"

She becomes suddenly serious. "What?"

"Lexa, I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?"

There is that vulnerability again.

 _Fuck!_ I think. _That look is so disarming!_

"Pretend to be buddies. We are leaving tomorrow and we're probably never going to see each other again. And, I mean, it's not like we're going to be penpals, am I right?"

"First of all," she says, looking up from the bunk. "Who says I'm pretending? And second of all—"

"I gave Madison the knife, okay? I'm the one who gave it to her. It's my fault she hurt you."

Stunned, she clenches her fist and looks away.

"Still want to be friends now?" I say with my arms crossed.

My heart pounds as I scan her face for signs of anger, signs of vengeance, even signs of forgiveness. She rises slowly with her eyes locked on mine, and with her jaw clenched, she continues.

"Second of all...who says I want to be friends?"

Intimidated and certain she is here to take revenge, I take a step back, but with the bunk bed behind me, there is nowhere to go. I expect her to lunge at any moment, but instead she leans back against her own bunk, surprisingly calm—almost cocky.

It is only when she glances at my mouth that I understand her meaning.

"Oh…" I sigh.

I am not scared anymore. Well, I am, but for different reasons. I take a step forward and she does, too. I lick my lips and she does, too. I swallow hard, thinking I've never swallowed so hard in my life.

And that's when I reach for her face. That's when I open my mouth. That's when I pull her close. That's when I taste her lips. She touches my neck, my ear, my cheek, but then her hand is moving up the back of my shirt.

I kiss her and kiss her and kiss her, touch her face and kiss her more.

I take a deep breath. I bury my face into her hair, leaving a frenzy of kisses over her neck and shoulders and ear. It's the ear kisses that make her moan. She drives her hand up my shirt, her fingers ghosting over my stomach, teasing under my breast.

I reach around her neck. I pull her down to me. I press my whole body against her whole body, my whole mouth against her mouth, my tongue against her tongue.

I hate the fabric that separates us.

"Take this off," I say, tugging on the crumpled shirt.

"You, too," she says.

Soon our shirts are gone. Soon my fingers move along her spine in a butterfly touch, but then her mouth is on my mouth again, and I grab at the flesh on her ribs.

I don't remember falling onto the bed. I only remember the gentle tone of her voice encouraging me to lay back. I remember her hair falling in a cascade of damp ringlets that startle my bare skin. I only remember her eyes as she leans forward, as she pins me to the pillow beneath her shadowy gaze.

And then her hand, inquisitive and confident, reaches between my legs. I don't stop her. No, I can't, because she has finally touched the place that I need to be touched.

She kisses and touches, and kisses and touches, until I have no kisses left for her. I turn my face away and close my eyes.

I don't know why I turn away, because all I want to see is her face, but the sensations that she draws out of me are too loud, too intense, too raw. I must bite them back, must hold them in, otherwise I think I might shatter beneath her.

But my turning away doesn't stop her. She leans forward, her rhythm now slower, more steady. She kisses my neck and whispers in my ear.

"It's better if you breathe."

As if on command, my back arches, my chest expands, my toes curl, and Lexa-scented air rushes into my lungs. And she is there to hold me. She slips her arm beneath my head. She watches me, this much I know. I see her watching me through half-opened eyes.

I pant and she smirks.

"Breathe," she says again. "Just breathe."

"Stop talking," I say, but what I mean is, _Please don't ever._

I guess she knows, because she whispers again in my ear.

"I wanted you from the first time I saw you."

"Stop!" I say, pushing at her shoulder with a balled-up fist.

But my pushing becomes pulling, becomes clenching.

Yes, suddenly, I am all clenching and no breathing, until that final...last...moan.

And when I open my eyes, she is still above me. I expect her to be cocky, but instead she is sweet.

"I mean it," she says as she kisses me.

"Me, too."

* * *

The morning comes too soon, and so do our goodbyes. We are late waking, and even later getting ourselves out of bed. We're so late, in fact, that my mother grows impatient waiting for me. She knocks on the door as Lexa pulls on her dusty black shirt.

"Clarke," she calls through the door.

Our eyes meet, and we both stare with our mouths open.

"Yeah!" I call back.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Um, just give me a minute!" I say hopping into a pair of jeans.

"Why? What's going on?"

I stumble. I fall. I crash into a pile of clothes. They fall to the floor, taking my suitcase with them.

 _BOOM!_

I laugh and laugh and Lexa laughs with me, reaching for my hand and lifting me to my feet.

"Clarke? What's going on?" my mother calls.

"Nothing! I'll be right there!"

Lexa buttons up her black jeans as I pull on my shirt. She reaches for my hand.

"Wait!" she whispers.

"What?" I whisper back.

"Let's trade?"

She pulls her black t-shirt off in one swift motion and presses it toward me.

"You take mine and I'll take yours."

I don't even have a chance to answer before her hands are at my waist and pulling up on my shirt. I raised my arms and— _WHOOSH!_ —it was suddenly in Lexa's hands. I laughed as I watched her slip it on.

"What should I tell your mother?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, am I your roommate? A good friend?"

"You're just…" I think for a moment. "Lexa."

"Okay, 'cause I don't want to out you or anything."

"Oh, god, no!" I say, straightening my hair. "My mom's gay—no, bi—no, wait...anyway, she's on the spectrum."

"My mom, too!"

We both pause in front of the door, smiling like school girls. She looks beautiful in the late morning light. The smell of her t-shirt surrounds me. I think I'm drunk on it—on her.

I kiss her. It's slow. It's soft. It's happy and sad and lingering.

"Clarke!" my mother calls again. "We've got a plane to catch."

I feel Lexa smile beneath my lips.

"We should go," she whispers.

I nod my head because I know she's right. I take a step back and we separate. I pull open the door.

My mother's eyes land on Lexa first. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Hello?" she says.

"Mom, this is...uh...Lexa," I say after clearing my throat.

"Oh," my mother says with a smile. She takes a step back, suddenly embarrassed. "Oh, I didn't realize you had a guest."

"It's fine," Lexa says. "I was just leaving."

Lexa brushes past me, but I reach for her hand.

"Wait," I say. "When can I see you again?"

"I...I don't…"

But before she has a chance to answer there are another set of footsteps on the patio. We all turn to see who might be approaching.

"Lexa! There you are!" the woman says.

She is short with thick glasses and tattoos, a nose ring and dreads.

"Relax," Lexa says, "you found me."

But her mother pauses on the steps, her eyes locked on my mother. Wait no, their eyes are locked on each other.

I've never seen my mother turn so red so fast.

"Cosima!" she says. "What a surprise!"

"Dr. Cormier," the other woman says. "What a statistical improbability."

I look back and forth between them, at their blushing cheeks, at their uncomfortable poses, at their reluctance to look each other in the eye.

"Wait a minute," I say. "How do you guys know each other?"

"Well," my mother says, taking another step back. "Ehm...well...that's a long story."


End file.
